


She Fucking Hates Me

by Vera_lemur



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Am i seriously the first one to ship these two?, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Guilt, Hate Sex, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Violence, do i need the character death tag if they were always dead?, former matespiritship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_lemur/pseuds/Vera_lemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurloz is a Prince of Rage. Damara is the only one who can come close to understanding the rage inside him. They don't really have much of a proper quadrant, and neither cares, they are still willing to get naked over a pail with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Fucking Hates Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leticheecopae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leticheecopae/gifts).



> Again for Leticheecopae. Because she loves Makara boys, in case you didn't notice.

Your name is Kurloz Makara, and you are dead.

So are all of your friends. Your moirail, your former matespirit, everyone you played a game with a universe's age ago. You have been existing in the dream bubbles breathed out by the horror terrors in the furthest ring ever since.

They don't know that you are one of the reasons for the rise of Lord English. They don't understand what happened to Mituna (not even Mituna himself) what he witnessed, what you did, and didn't do. You're a shitty person to be in quadrants with. Meulin is deaf because of you, Mituna will never be the same again. You've been using chucklevoodoo on Meulin for what could have been millennia, might really only be centuries. She has no idea she is a servant of the Mirthful Messiahs. No one knows what you have done to those most dear to you.

Except her.

Damara's dialect is nearly completely unintelligible to you, but like you, she is good at talking with her hands. She is good at understanding what you mean by it when you lift her shirt up over her head, reading the messages you write with your nails down her back, how to interpret what your hand pulling her hair means. Likewise you don't have to speak her language to know when she's asking you to go deeper into her, what it means when she bites into your skin, and when she's mocking you cruelly.

You don't have to understand her words to know she's telling you how much she hates everyone in your little 'party.' She hates Meenah for pushing her to the edge and throwing Rufioh's infidelity in her face. She hates Rufioh for cheating on her, and for being too meek to dump horuus even though he wants to. She hates Horuus for being so clueless and sharing his cluelessness incessantly with Meulin who shouts it at the top of her voice. She hates Mituna because he's always been crass but now she can't retaliate against him because it's not fair to try to hold him to his actions when he can barely remember how to walk straight. She hates Latula who is, in her opinion phony and full of herself, and also Aranea for much the same reasons. She hates Kankri for being an insufferable conceited bigot that insults the ones he's needlessly trying to defend. Cronus' half serious, and completely tactless solicitations, Porrim's pompous nature. She even hates you for making her love you and hate you at the same time. Or at least, that's what you think she said.

She's the only person you know who could so freely talk about hating so much while over a pail. She is full of bitterness and rage. And you think it's beautiful.

She wears your aspect like a royal cloak. You are the prince of rage but she reigns on high. She could hate the day for turning into night if she wanted you think, and she probably does, because you live in dream bubbles now, and if it's not yet when she wants to sleep why the fuck should it be getting dark? She hates you all and played her hand in bringing about the Cherub that will fulfill the prophesies told by those of your blood caste for as long as any member of the Dark Carnival could remember.

You love her rage, can smell it on her skin like an expensive perfume as you breathe her in.

She slams the base of her palm into your jaw, disentangles herself from you, and shoves you onto your stomach before dragging your pelvis back over the pail. You let her, because the alternative would be with your first instinct to rip her limb from limb. Her bulge makes it's fevered way into your nook and it's been a few decades since you've been on this end of things and it hurts a little in the way you treasure. She picks up the joint sitting in the ashtray and takes a drag. You hold out a hand for it, and she passes it to you.

You inhale and let the smoke rush out your nose. You're both some kind of half high, toking on whatever someone has happened to dream up. Sometimes it's Meulin's shit, which is not all that strong. Sometimes it's your shit which you've laced with your own special blend and they are your favorite, obviously. This is her shit, stronger than yours and nothing special added. It's freeing and falling and good and bad, a lot like she is.

She only lets you have the one drag before she takes back the joint with a quick comment that is most likely something biting about how she's not about to let you keep it all to yourself. Her hand clasped around your horn and dragging you up onto your knees is easier to understand than her words, "Pay attention Bonehead," She's telling you, "And maybe you'll notice when you're supposed to come as I fuck you."

And fuck you she does. The hand on your horn moves to cover your mouth, and this is again, easy to understand.

"Fuck you. Fuck you for the fact that I'm fucking you and you can't even make a sound. FUCK you for barring this place from me. I mark you with teeth and claw and bruise and cut. And you cannot match me blow for blow. I have never fucked your mouth. I hate you for denying us both this."

She hates your mouth, mostly because she wants it so badly.

Her rhythm is simple and harsh, and you like it well enough that you can mix your genetic material with hers in the bucket under your hips as you finish cumming. She isn't your ideal. And you're far from the one she wants, much less the only one she wants. It's understood that what you're doing with each other isn't properly Kismesisitude or Matespiritship. Sometimes it's one, sometimes it's the other. Sometimes, like this time, it's both.

There is no mother grub or drone to collect the bucket, so when she kicks it over, it means little to either of you. She dons a set of clothes from her sylladex, and with a remark that is undoubtably scathing and an artfully casual wave, she leaves, a trail of smoke marking her path for a few seconds before dissipating.

She's shredded your clothing, and you have to use a spare set of clothes yourself, using her ruined skirt to clean the red and purple off your body. You put on your skeleton suit and purple shorts that Mituna had to ask you to put on to stop making the others uncomfortable in your presence, and have pulled on one boot when you notice.

Meulin is standing a little ways away from you, it seems like she was hiding behind a prospit bridge that you aren't sure was always there.

"I- it seems like I'll have to correct my shipping charts." She says in a loud voice that she probably intended to sound steadier than she does. She can't tell how loud she is, any more than she can tell how much she is giving away with her tone. You wouldn't have it any other way you think to yourself as you pull on the other boot, and slip on your gloves. You move towards her, leaving the stained ground and upturned bucket where it is to disappear and shift into something else.

Her dreambubble has altered the scenery, and you step easily onto a lilypad as you lead her away from where you'd fucked and been fucked by Damara. She's glancing at you in a way that tells you your face paint is fucked up. You pick her up and sit her on a chest next to a giant lotus flower and pull out a bottle and a cloth. Pouring the liquid into the cloth and recaptchaloging the bottle, you drag the cloth over your face repeatedly. You take care to go over every part of your face twice, getting up all the paint and showing her the one thing that is still hers and only hers. Your face.

She understands the gesture. And between the two of you it's all you have left, gesture. She smiles and tells you how handsome you are, which is what she usually does on the occasion she is there when you reapply your paint.

You take out all you need, small standing mirror, two brushes, two tins of paint, and a small smoothed shell you use to sharpen up the lines where the white paint meets the grey. You pick up a brush, when she lays her hand on yours.

"You're going to need to change your stitches to fresh ones soon."

The statement is quiet, for Meulin anyways. And makes no sense to you for a moment because changing thread in your mouth was something you did when you were alive and wear and tear and rot affected the stitching in your mouth. Now you are dead and you don't need to change it at all. Meulin knows this.

And then it hits you.

She's giving you permission. She too saw Damara's hand over your mouth and even if she doesn't understand it like you do, she understood enough. She's giving you permission, and an excuse to let your mouth free of it's bonds to give Damara what you've been denying her. All but TELLING you to do it. She's forgiving you again, when you'd thought she'd done it in every way possible she found another.

You are the most horrible troll that ever occupied a quadrant (which makes you slightly less horrible than Cronus, who has never occupied a quadrant), completely unworthy of her forgiveness, so you only take the permission. You nod to her, and give a kiss to her hand that you turn into a weak raspberry through the stitches. As she laughs at you, you remember that Meulin loved music before you deafened her. You have to remind yourself of these things so you can always be aware of the cost of serving your masters.

She removes her hand, and sits down in front of you, patiently waiting as you go about 'reapplying your face' as she'd once called it. She watches with the same interest she showed the first time you did this in front of her, when she'd gotten over seeing your naked face. Sometimes you make intricate designs just to amuse her, but your heart is too tired for it, so you just use your normal arrangement. You catch yourself contemplating adding three scars to your face. Such things are too obvious and could cause problems. And Mituna would worry that you had hurt yourself.

It's just as well you're done reapplying the paint, because thinking of your moirail just exhausted you in a way pailing Damara never could.

"I like to take catnaps in the lotus blossoms." She shout whispers to you, and you remember all the reasons why you two were such good quadrants, and all the reasons why it's over now. She really just knows you too well.

After gathering your paint kit, you give her hair a ruffle between the horns, and lay down and dream of a warm sun to dry your face paint. You get the first in minutes, and the second in time. When you open your eyes Meulin is gone and you lumber over to the lotus blossom and make yourself comfortable. You nap for however long you nap for until you don't feel so tired. You think you have a knife in your sylladex, and if not you could probably find one somewhere. 

Damara will be thrilled at least, and she'll probably display the bites you will leave on her for Rufioh to see and fret over, probably shove her tongue and bulge down your throat as far as she can to play with your stump of a tongue, probably spend most of that first round trying to get you to make a sound. You probably won’t mind all that much you think to yourself as you let yourself drift out of time the only way a non-time player can and sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known throughout the land that I am a feedback junkie and beg all that enjoy this fic and any others i write to please leave constructive criticism.


End file.
